Say Cheese
by millie-mione
Summary: They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. Unfortunately,after losing Sirius, Harry gets sick and tired of words. Can a picture that he finds in a photo album help lift him from the dumps? Characters are not mine.


Days passed since Harry talked to anyone. Just thinking of anybody he knew connected his mind to Sirius. He went to his bedroom window and stared at the people below him who went about their daily lives without a care, and wondered what it would be like to live in a state of ignorant bliss. He was quite sure that most of their problems involved minor issues like who to hire to cut the lawn or what route to take to get to work on time.

Aunt Petunia banged the door, and he knew that it was time to get moving with his chores in the attic. Clearing the attic was the first in the list of chores she had prepared for him to do about the house.

He climbed the ladder that led to the attic and felt Petunia's bony hand clasp his ankle. He looked down to see her hand him a water bottle and a bowl with two oranges and an apple. Obviously, this was a big job; otherwise, she wouldn't have bothered being so generous with the rations. He thanked her and got to business.

He saw so many boxes crammed here and there that he didn't know how he could possibly clear it all. At first, he thought to cast a spell and then pretend as if there'd been some sort of accident when the ministry sent the citation fining him for using underage sorcery. Then, he recalled the events of last summer that concerned the episode with Dudley being attacked by the dementors. He swore and grunted in fury. Why did everything in his life have to attract trouble?

It wasn't fair. He had to act like a statue, while guys like Fred, George, and his father got away with murder. He'd have given anything to trade places with them. Heck, even swapping places with Nevillebegan to seem attractive, given his current state of mind.

He heard the door slam downstairs and listened as a pair of angry feet stomped up the stairs. It was probably his aunt. Uncle Vernon and Dudley were much too heavy to make such light steps. He laughed as he pictured Uncle Vernon charging up the staircase and falling through its supporting beams as he trounced. To his surprise, laughing like this felt rather good. Harry realized that his stomach and his chest didn't feel as heavy as they had before.

He stopped and decided that he'd better not fritter his time away laughing, so he grabbed a box from the shortest stack and yelped as a heavy brown leather book fell onto his foot. He picked it up and opened it. It was a photo album. The first snapshot showed his grandparents at their wedding.

His grandmother wore the traditional white gown, and his grandfather wore a military uniform. Harry flipped further and found letters. Each individual letter was carefully encased in the plastic section with great care.

He sat down and began reading them. The first three expressed how much his grandfather regretted leaving his grandmother to serve in duty and how much he missed her smile, her cooking, and the way that her hair shined. Boy, were they in love.

It wasn't until he reached the fifth letter that he found something that he could relate to. Apparently his grandfather was in the medical tent being treated when he wrote this one to his grandmother.

Dear Zinnia,

Good Lord how do I begin? It was entirely my fault. Thirteen men perished yesterday; because, I didn't take the time to learn Morse code. Colonel Phillips placed Major Cobbins in charge of teaching the classes. Major Cobbins hated me from the first. They say that it was because, he and my Uncle Richard served in the first war together, and that they were rivals. Apparently they credited Uncle Richard with being the better soldier.

Colonel Phillips admired my talent as a soldier, so he placed me in charge of the fifth squadron. He was also sensitive to my differences with Major Cobbins, so he set up a remote radio tent in the safe zone for us to receive orders and keep up to speed concerning events with the others. Major Cobbins argued the fact that this resembled preferential treatment, but Phillips ignored his allegations. Yesterday morning, the enemy siezed our radio tent and forced our men to give us false coordinates. My squadron received the order to advance toward the front line, and we responded. Four of my comrades fell by gunshot, but the rest of us fought and made it to the line.

The other squadrons managed to recapture the radio tent, and Major Cobbins discovered that we were trapped in a hostile zone. He sent the ninth squadron in to rescue us. They helped to subdue the enemy while my squadron moved the injured back to safe territory. They were winning, until Colonel Rheinhardt ordered his men to shower them with hand grenades. The explosion rustled the dirt, and the foxhole caved in on them. This whole situation was my fault. I didn't have the guts to look past Cobbins and our personality conflicts. Phillips said that ihe was to blame for not teaching me Morse, but I know that the blame lies with me. It was my responsibility to learn Morse. Those men needn't have wasted their time detouring to help us had I learned, but no, I allowed my self to take advantage of special accomodations. From what I've learned, we're losing terribly in the field today. I wondered what would've happened had those men not lost their lives over my insubordination. A part of me says that they would still be alive, but another part of me says to let sleeping dogs lie.

They say that they will be sending the injured home in a week or so. I don't know how I will face you and my parents when I arrive, but know this. I love you whether you choose to remain married to me, or if you choose to leave to avoid the scandal that will be associated with my name in future.

Always yours,

Craig

After going over the events of the letter, he began to feel something that he hadn't thought that he'd ever be able to feel again. Acceptance. He compared his grandfather's plight to his own, and realized that the uncomfortable situation with Snape and his unwillingness to continue Occlumency lessons weren't the direct causes of Sirius' death. Just like his grandfather wasn't responsible for Rheinhardt's actions with the men who died when the foxhole caved in. He flipped to the pictures of the years that followed and saw how successfully his grandfather lived after the war ended. It was then that Harry realized that all this success was due to the men who died protecting his grandfather and the others who made it out. They gave their all so that good could triumph over evil.

He berated himself for mourning the tragedy of Sirius' loss and not bothering to appreciate the importance that his selfless contribution made to their temporary victory over Lord Voldemort as well as his survival during the attack at the Department of Mysteries.

Harry decided that he would honor Sirius with an unofficial salute. He unsheathed his wand and cast a spell to clear the boxes. Afterwards, he returned to his room to await the citation from the ministry. When it came, he balled it up, and placed it in his pocket. He waited until he finished dinner to walked to the park, tear the letter up, and toss the bits of paper to the wind as if they didn't matter. As the remnants of the letter floated on the breeze, Harry imagined Sirius enjoying the mischief.


End file.
